Sunday, April 29, 2012

Penny the Therapy Pony. She is therapy for me, and I want a therapy pony of my own!

Okay, so the title is a bit misleading. What I really need,
I suppose, is a good shrink. I need assistance in getting my brain re-wired to a more positive place.

Last weekend (from Friday, April 20 at 3 p.m. to Sunday,
April 22 at around 4:30 p.m.), I had the best weekend I’d had in over 15 years.
I admit I had concerns about
driving myself for four hours, as my usual pain limit is around an hour. And
yes, when I got out of the car in Tehachapi to refuel, those first ten steps or
so were excruciatingly painful. But any hint of pain utterly vanished as I
drove toward Bear Valley Springs and descended into the valley itself, looking
at open spaces, nice homes and horse properties complete with horses.

Normally what I would have done after a 4-hour car ride is
take something for pain. But I didn’t. I visited with my friend and within an
hour I was holding a horse in a wash rack, with horse hair flying all over, and
reveling in the smell of wet horse. We bathed three horses together, and while
Charisse and her husband Vic bathed a fourth, I sat in the sunshine with Penny
while she was drying from her bath. I should have been hurting like hell, but I
wasn’t.

It was only after I took a shower, washing off horse hair
and horse smell that I figured I probably should take something for pain,
because pain just has a way of keeping me awake. I fell asleep reading horse
magazines and woke up 7 hours later, a bit stiff (normal for me), but nowhere
near in as much pain as usual. I took a pain pill, and went about the day’s
activities, which included several hours of photography, walking, bending,
kneeling—whatever it took to get the shot. I know I should have been in pain—I do these things when I
do yard work. Mind you, I am as slow as a turtle doing yard work—I require
frequent rest periods and stretches, and at times I do have to break and take
something for pain. So by no means am I fast, nor do I lift much, and it takes
me three times as long to do something when compared to an able-bodied person.

That second night I noted I went 14 hours without taking any pain
medication. The next day we spent
time with the horses, and I even spent a good 15 minutes kneeling on the barn
breezeway floor, a brick surface, scratching dear Penny between her front legs
while she reciprocated and groomed the nape of my neck at the base of my
hairline. I did not want to return home, but knew my cats probably missed me
(and I them), so off I went in the
late afternoon, wishing I could bottle whatever “it” was that made the weekend
so wonderful.

By the time I got back to the Salinas Valley, I noticed how much my low back
was stinging. It was close to bedtime, so I took something for pain. I was sad and my mind dwelled on how I would never have a horse property, how I would never be able to have horses or live in the country on a house that is surrounded by a few acres. I woke up
in pain four hours later, my knees just ached to the core, and I repeated my pain meds. About five hours later I awoke
again, and again took something for pain.

I tried real hard to not fall back into my pain pattern my
first day home, and I did okay. But as the week has progressed, I’m back to my
old pattern. I don’t watch the clock, but my body just tells me that my back
and knees hurt, and first thing in the morning my wrists, hands and hips hurt
so badly that I’m just one package of pain.

Yesterday morning (Saturday) I woke up in horrible pain. The
first few steps I took across the hall to the bathroom were excruciating. But
I’d promised a friend I would visit her and bring her some blackberry cuttings
from my yard—I have so many blackberry plants, they are like weeds growing
everywhere! I forced my carcass to move around, eventually repeated my pain
medication (about 5 hours from the previous dose), dug up some plants, cut some
roses as a surprise to cheer my friend up, and off I went!

I have always had physical limitations—always! When I was a
very young child my knees would just stop working—probably dislocated kneecaps,
but I was too young to remember. If I took a wrong step or if my horse took me
into a tree or a fence, and I was hit just right, I’d dislocate my kneecap, and
I was at the mercy of whomever was with me to pull my leg out straight and the
kneecap would pop back into place.
I had to stop ballet in the third grade because my knees would not
tolerate dancing en pointe. I had limitations in PE throughout junior high and
high school. So I’m used to pulling myself out of very physical activities.

But when I saw my friend for the first time since 1974—someone
who was so golden, so vivacious, so unlimited and whose body has utterly
betrayed her despite doing everything right physical activity-wise, the breath
was knocked right out of me. Her spirit is still exactly as I remember, but now
she’s got the physical limitations—multiplied twofold—that I have. Back in high school,
nothing stopped her. Immediately
my “pain,” the pain I always have, went right into the shadows and I went into
“what can I do for you?” mode.

I happily planted the infant blackberry plants I’d brought
for her. Some went into pots, and I planted five in the ground, in a strategic
location so she can easily water and ultimately harvest the berries that will
come to her in July. I walked on uneven ground, sat on the ground, kneeled, got
up, walked around, and even carried in a case of dog food for her. When she
voiced concern about my pain, I had to say “I know it’s here but it’s just not
here.”

I went home expecting to “pay” for my activities. But I didn’t. I took
something for pain just before I went to sleep, and had my sleep interrupted
about 6 hours later, so repeated the medication. I putzed around the house for
a couple of hours in preparation for doing some of my own yard work.

At noon I went to the side yard to water my little bulbs who
are peeking their heads from the mulch. I watered them, and cultivated some
weeds (I’m trying to get rid of weeds before they get very big; I’m trying to
avoid having Round-Up sprayed all over the place). With 30 minutes of slow and
fairly gentle yard work, I hurt terribly. I took something for pain, and
continued cultivating the weeds in the dry, hard ground. An hour later I still hurt, so I repeated my
pain medication, and then went back outside to burn some yard waste—branches
and leaves I’ve trimmed from all over, dried weeds I pulled up several weeks
ago, and lots of mistletoe that is falling from the elm tree I’d like to cut
down.

I was happily interrupted by a visit from a friend I’ve not
seen in some time. She and her family lived in the house above ours, and we grew
up running around in the hills like wild animals—we’d leave home in the
morning, maybe go home for lunch (or more often, take food with us), play in
the creek or in the hills, and go home before dark. Our parents never worried
for our safety.

The only trauma from the visit was she saw my ghetto house and ghetto yard. My
house is nowhere near “house beautiful.” It’s in bad enough shape that I
generally don’t invite people in, I am so embarrassed. Two slobs live in this
house, and one of the slobs isn’t able-bodied enough to clean up after two! I’m
embarrassed she had to look at the ghetto deck and the ghetto hot tub where an opossum sleeps! But she said nothing—I think she knows and understands my
physical limitations, and of course now my financial ones. Someday I will have
the house and yard I want—no garbage strewn about, nice furniture, a comfortable
place that people want to return to, a place where I can host family
get-togethers during the holidays and not be embarrassed by piles of paper and
torn-up furniture.

Anyway, I am beginning to come to the conclusion that I have
less pain if I am doing something I love or doing for others. Now “all” I have
to figure out is where and how I can routinely apply this to my life every day.
Opportunities to “do for others” are sorely lacking in SoMoCo. I’m looking at
joining the Daughters of the American Revolution (yes I am eligible, I have TWO
relatives who served!) and I’m hoping there will be service opportunities
there.

In lieu of a mini-horse I think I will buy some chickens and
care for them—probably a temporary fix until I can afford to buy a mini-horse
and build a little turn-out pen for it in the backyard. Even though I’m not an
egg-eater (I cook with them) I know there’s nothing like fresh eggs, and I
think it will give me immense pleasure to raise chickens and collect their eggs
and give them to family and friends. Wonder if I can make a little money by
selling eggs… maybe that’s how I will be able to buy myself a mini-horse, which
is what I think will contribute greatly to keeping the pain I will always have
in check.

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Cathy & Shorty

About Me

I am a middle-aged moderate Republican who is concerned about the direction this country is taking. I'm mostly socially liberal but I am very fiscally conservative and I think too many people in this country are waiting for handouts and not seeking solutions.